


Crawl Home To Her

by cryingandkissingramen



Series: Crawl Home to Her [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Existential Crisis, F/F, Other, becoming, distortion typical confusion, fics named after hozier lyrics, self -loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26790100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingandkissingramen/pseuds/cryingandkissingramen
Summary: “For you.” the woman says in her thick accent. Where is she from again? The States? Which state? Shouldn’t she know? Wherever she’s from, she’s holding a shot glass to… um…”I’ll trade you for your name.”Her name? Name. Names aren’t real. YES. THEY. ARE. And she has one. Surely she does. She must. She forgets the word as soon as it tumbles out of her mouth. The short woman does not.
Relationships: Helen Richardson (The Magnus Archives)/Original Female Character(s), Helen | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives)/Original Character(s)
Series: Crawl Home to Her [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953562
Kudos: 5





	Crawl Home To Her

Lights flash. Colors swirl around the room and her head… her heart… no all of her is pounding. It’s the bass from the speakers. Must be. Sweaty from dancing, she heads towards the bar.

“This round’s on me!” a young woman exclaims to the crowd sitting at the bar. American, she thinks. The woman is short, dark skinned with hot pink acrylic nails and individuals piled high into two messy buns. Around her head, she wears a tie that might have originally belonged to a member of her party. Shots of tequila make their way around the group standing at the bar. The woman walks over to… To…?

“For you.” the woman says in her thick accent. Where is she from again? The States? Which state? Shouldn’t she know? Wherever she’s from, she’s holding a shot glass to… um…”I’ll trade you for your name.”

Her name? Name. Names aren’t real. YES. THEY. ARE. And she has one. Surely she does. She must. She forgets the word as soon as it tumbles out of her mouth. The short woman does not. Was she always this tall? No. FOCUS.

“Helen, huh?” the woman mutters, giving her a once over. “Yeah. You could launch a couple hundred ships.” Did she really say that? Helen can see the embarrassment flood her face. “Oh God. Why would I say that?” The pitch of her voice climbs, “I’m so sorry. I’m- I’m gonna go now. Uh… Drink this if you want to. I uh… I bought it for you… obviously. No pressure! I mean… Yeah. I’m. Going.” Putting the drink down on the bar, the woman turns to leave.

“So you’re just going to make me take this shot alone? You didn’t even tell me your name.” She- Helen hears herself saying. The woman turns back to her, a broad grin now splitting her face.

“Rubi.” she says before clinking their glasses together. “Cheers! When did Helen pick hers up? She feels the sting of the alcohol sliding down her throat in the same second she feels soft lips pressed against hers. The slide of tongues. Roaming hands and Rubi’s plump frame pressing her against the door to her apartment. How did that happen? Were they always there? Must have been. 

This is the first time they’ve met and it’s all very familiar. Helen remembers this. Pieces are missing but she knows this night. This feeling. This woman. All hers. This night is hers. It happened. Is happening. Will have happened. Time is hard, but this night isn’t. She knows all of the steps to this dance. She knows the lines in this scene. So when they find themselves in her bedroom, she says what she’d said the first time.

“Do you mind if I um… Go freshen up?”It’s the exact same reflection without any of the original nerves.This is one of their nights. It’s the first one and Helen has only felt nervous around Rubi one other time. When she proposed. But this isn’t that memory. It could be. It’s not. She’s said her line. Now Rubi will say “Sure! No worries!” While she’s in the bathroom, Rubi will make herself a little too comfortable on her bed. She’ll be asleep by the time Helen comes out of the bathroom.

Helen  _ knows  _ this story. She’s relieved to find herself still in this pleasant memory. How long has it been since dreams offered any relief? Too long. Why is that? The question slips away from her consciousness before she can answer it. Whatever. She is content to walk through the memory. Ready to be both charmed and a little frustrated at the curled up figure on her bed.

Before she can turn towards the bathroom, two hands find their way to either side of her face and she is forced to look directly at Rubi.The expression on the shorter woman’s face is unfamiliar. Terror? Or desperation maybe?

“You need to run.” She says with a deliberate inflection.

“What?” This never happened.

“It’s coming, Helen. Get up and run!” This is happening.

“”I don’t understand. What's coming?” This will have happened. The hands on the side of her face begin to stretch and twist. Helen jerks away before they cage her.

**“RUN!”**

Helen’s eyes snap open. She is crumpled on the floor in an impossible hallway. Her body is heavy. She catches a glimpse of a distorted figure in a mirror. It is too close for comfort. The sight sends a jolt of adrenaline through her and she is on her feet faster than she would have thought possible. Trying to put more distance between herself and that  _ thing. _ It almost feels like she’s running in place, but she won’t stop trying to get away. She can’t. Helen has to survive. She has to keep going. She has to return to her.

The color of the hallway changes too many times for her to keep track. It doesn’t matter though. What matters is that she can feel that thing creeping closer and closer. It reaches out it’s bone-jammed hand and Helen is sure that this is the end of her. It laughs. It has always been laughing, she thinks. Helen might be laughing too. There is no way of knowing when she started. If she will stop. It.. She… They laugh for an eternity and Helen wants to scream or cry or fight or do anything but laugh.

It’s all she can do to keep running. She’s managing to stay just slightly out of reach but that’s not a real thing she can be. It could reach her if it wanted to.She knows this and it knows that she knows. It is teasing her. Like it had been when it let her ‘escape’ the first time. How long has it been since then? How long since she walked through that door, hopeful with the promise of a new ally? How long since she realized where she was and despaired? Maybe months ago? Years? 

Or maybe she never did escape. Maybe there was no Magnus Institute, no posh, greying archivist named Jon. No new ally. Maybe it was all fake. Just another trick in an endless hall of delusions. Maybe no one even knew she was here. Or that she was missing at all. NO. Rubi would notice. Rubi would know and search for her. Maybe she’d even rescue her. She could find Jon, who is definitely real and NOT a figment of her imagination. They were both real. ARE both real and they are looking for her! She just needs to stay alive. She just needs to delay being consumed long enough to get out of this… place? Is it a place? Can a thing be a place when it is impossible to be anywhere? What other word is there? Can someone even find such an impossible place? Can you leave a place that isn’t. Who can say.

Helen feels a sharp appendage graze her shoulder from many directions at once. All at the same point. It shocks her from her thoughts.Her heart leaps into her throat. The finger begins to dig into her skin and this time she really does scream. The laughter is inside of her. It echoes in her bones as if they were as cavernous as the halls she’s sprinting through. It does not belong to her.

With a sudden burst of energy, Helen propels herself forward.The finger is left behind, exchanged for a deep trail through the flesh of her shoulder. A hiss of pain echoes through the labyrinth. Then, just as suddenly as it arrived, the thing is gone.

Helen keeps running. There’s nothing else she can do. She runs and runs and smashes whatever mirrors she finds. Eventually she slows to a walk. The monster does not reappear. Fists bloody and eyes just as red, Helen finds herself doing something she’s never been able to do in this place. She makes a left turn. Or something makes the turn for her. The imperceptible shift of colors after this turn becomes perceptible. Madness is all around her and she’s starting to think she understands.

She stops and so do the colors. The room or hall or bubble frays at the edges. The heart of the monster is how she would come to think of this place. It isn’t actually a place but Helen is there. So is something else. The thing she’s been running from but not as such. Helen speaks to it. She does not open her mouth but she impresses upon it a desire. Want to be. Need to be. MUST be.

It does not want to be. Not as it is. The what of it is at odds with the who of it and it is not pleasant. Helen has not wanted to be the who of herself before. She has vivid memories of living a life that she did not want. But that was a long time ago. Helen has someone to get back to. A life she likes and a self she has learned to love.

It wants that. In as much as it can want anything that isn’t necessary for survival. Then again, self loathing runs counter to survival. Helen wants to be and it wants to not be the who of what it is. It likes the idea, if it can like. Changing the who of it is necessary and it really would be a waste if Helen wasn’t anymore.

They are agreed. Helen must be and it cannot be Michael any longer. It must be Helen. There is no escape so Helen must be it and that sound? That awful scream? Well, that must be Michael.

**Author's Note:**

> So... TMA is my new obsession and I love Helen the most! There just isn't enough fic about her, so here is my contribution. This is the first thing I've posted in years. It is not at all beta'd but I needed to post before I lost my nerve. Let me know what you think!


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